


Under the Weather

by LillysoftheValley



Series: Allsorts - A Collection of Assorted GO Ficlets [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Established Relationship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Blood, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Sickfic, Wordcount: 100-1.000, angelic bodies being affected by weather, no vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-23 15:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23146924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillysoftheValley/pseuds/LillysoftheValley
Summary: Aziraphale sometimes needs help coping with how rainy weather affects his body, and Crowley - no stranger to that feeling - is there to assist.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Allsorts - A Collection of Assorted GO Ficlets [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1650484
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Drawing from personal experience here as far as symptoms and methods of relief. I'm not offering any kind of medical advice.  
> I appreciate the headcannon that Crowley has migraines, and explorations of both Crowley and Aziraphale managing chronic pain however that may manifest. So, I decided to explore one myself (and project a little because that's the whole point, right?). If high pressure systems knock me out sometimes, I don't think it's too much of a stretch that an angel with his true form mostly settled into a human body would have a similarly bad time.

Most days, when the forecast calls for rain, and the clouds roll in, Aziraphale is prepared. He can set out what he'll need when he wakes and his neck is stiff and his head is fuzzy and he has to take a little longer to get out of bed. He can mange it, most days, keeping the lights off and the house quiet, staying clear of too much sugar and any strong smells, and he can push through the headaches and the general feeling of yuckiness and usually feels well enough by evening to still have a nice dinner with Crowley. Most days.

But sometimes, now that they're closer to the coast, the barometer falls so fast he's caught off guard. Those days, he can hardly get out of bed. Those days he feels utterly helpless, and that's almost worse than the pounding in his head making him irritable and tired and queasy. He hates that he can't control the weather, that he can't snap his fingers and feel better, that he can't do the things he planned that day. It's frustrating, a wrench thrown into the gears, grinding everything to a halt, disrupting his sleep for weeks afterwards. Those days, he's glad to have Crowley there. Crowley knows all to well how to mitigate being at the mercy of one's own body, knows how grating it is to have someone fuss over you when you can take care of yourself. So it gladdens Aziraphale to know that when he does ask for help, it will be soft and supportive, gentle and not overbearing.

Crowley makes him tea, a ginger blend just right for settling his sour stomach when he hurts too much to eat. Crowley tries not to touch as he gives Aziraphale support while he undresses, knowing he is achy all over and chilled bone deep, that even his usual soft flannels scrape uncomfortably on his skin. He lets the bathroom get steamy and warm, the water just this side of too hot, only lighting a few candles against the dark. He sets out a little tray of crackers, or toast for Aziraphale to nibble as he soaks. He'll ask if Aziraphale wants company, or if he just wants to drift in the steamy quiet. Usually Aziraphale wants company, but sometimes just thinking about being seen is too much and Crowley will retreat, only making quiet noises in the kitchen, or the study, to let Aziraphale know he's still there.

Sometimes Aziraphale will ask for Crowley to work out the knots in his shoulders after the heat has loosened up the vicegrip of muscles. He likes that Crowley took the time to learn just where to put the pressure, when to be gentle and when to knead. The idea of a bad massage is worse than none at all. And Aziraphale learned, too, for Crowley. 

Then, feeling more like himself, even if he is still fatigued and his thoughts are too syrupy to do anything he had planned that day, it is a comfort to know that Crowley doesn't mind foregoing their dinner plans, or going to that museum, or having tea with Anathama. If he doesn't want to go back to bed and actually get some sleep now that he's less tense, he'll snuggle up on the sofa while Crowley orders a takeaway, and will spend the day dozing with some crap telly, or a classic film, or just listening to the storm. Aziraphale prefers to just be held, wrapped up in Crowley's solid embrace without a lot of little touches. He can listen to Crowley's heart, his breathing, or his smooth voice reading, warm and sure around him, soothed to know that tomorrow, the weather will clear along with his head, and they can try again.


End file.
